


White Lilies

by howl-to-the-wind (greenleaf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Claudia Stilinski Memories, Coping Mechanisms, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenleaf/pseuds/howl-to-the-wind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>prompt: All I want is for someone to write a story about Stiles getting caught wearing his mom's wedding dress by Derek .. Derek thinking it's only a dream .. A cruel, gorgeous, perfect dream .. Just a dream ..</i>
</p>
<p>Well, I didn't exactly follow the prompt but it's close. Just a short piece of Stiles in mourning and Derek being there for his young lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Lilies

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on tumblr just a few hours ago, but I decided to move it here instead to keep my works in one place.
> 
> I don’t usually fill prompts because my ideas tend to go so differently from what I’ve been asked. Just like how this turned out. I kinda think this wasn’t what the anon requested, especially with the ‘cruel dream’ part. So sorry to the anon! And I don’t know why you’d drop the prompt on my askbox, but I figured I could give it a try. I hope you like it even a little.
> 
> Please enjoy.

Stiles didn’t know why he decided to dig through his closet that late summer afternoon. Maybe because it was _that_ time of the year and he was feeling a little nostalgic, or a little out of his mind, or a little self-punishing. He didn’t really know. But he rummaged around the very back of his closet and pulled out the large brown chest at the very back.

Stiles took a moment, tracing the engravings and curlicues that spelled his mother’s name before sliding the lock and then the trunk open. Instantly he was met with the faint scent of white lilies. Inside the trunk were some of his mother’s favorite things, from the empty tube of her favorite red lipstick, to the half-empty bottle of her cologne (Stiles bought one every year no matter the cost, thankful that the company still made her favorite brand), and her jewelry box with the cracked mirror, and her diaries and pictures, and her favorite pink blouse, and one of her yellow slippers (its other half hidden in the other chest, the one at the back of his father’s closet).

Stiles sighed as he stroked each item, memories flitting inside his head. On impulse, he looked up, his eyes swiveling towards the white box at the top shelf. He stood up on slightly shaky knees and took the box down, untying it and opening it. The smell of white lilies was stronger here.

Stiles looked down at his mother’s wedding dress, a white vintage-themed piece, all silk and a demure high neckline of sheer lace with a long skirt that he could imagine falling in waves over her dainty feet. There were lace gloves in there and Stiles touched each finger to his the way his mother used to back when they played counting games and Stiles’ erratic brain always jumped from six to eight because he had a love-hate relationship with number seven.

Stiles buried his face in its lacy depths, inhaling his mother’s scent. He could almost hear her laughter, high-pitched and infectious, her ungraceful snort of amusement, the soft lilting tone of her voice when she sang. He took great care of this, considered it one of his most precious possessions, all the more because for him it was the living embodiment of his mother’s love and beauty.

He felt the need to be closer, deeper, feel every inch of her around him as if she was actually here and from one second to the next, he had slipped off his shirt and kicked off his sweatpants, leaving just his boxers. He paused, looking down at his pale, mole-splattered skin against the white dress. It wasn’t like he had this thing about dressing in women’s clothing, but this was his mother, his _Mama_.

Stiles was careful, so very careful, as he slipped the gown over his head. He paused for one moment once he was under the cloth, if only to inhale more of her scent. He had a slim torso and a lanky built and was completely terrified he wouldn’t fit, but his head popped up at the end and the cloth yielded around his body and waist like a smooth, gentle embrace. He carefully pulled one arm and then the other through the arm holes, steady and sure. His arms had rounded and thickened with the passage of time but not enough to completely stretch and ruin the material but since he had grown into his broad shoulders by now, he wasn’t able to zip up the back.

Stiles reached out for the chest, taking the perfume bottle and dabbing some on his shoulders and neck. He then took the elbow-length gloves, slipping them on, tickled by the lacy material. He was only able to fit them around his forearms, a little scared to try more with how the thin material already stretched around his long fingers and wide wrists.

But this was enough. This was what he needed.

Stiles looked around, watched the dress spread out around him. He smoothed it down, smiling to himself, could imagine his mother excitedly running around at the back of the church, never mind her dress getting rumpled because all that mattered was the man she loved standing at the end of the altar.

He reached into the chest again, this time pulling out one of his mother’s diaries. Surrounded almost completely by the woman he loved the most, he opened the diary and read.

-

Derek wasn’t sure how long he stood there, leaning against the open window to Stiles’ room. He had crawled in, knowing that today was _that_ time of the year and knowing his young lover was undoubtedly stuck in his own head more so than usual. Derek knew more than anybody else just how difficult it could be.

So he had scaled the side of the house as easy as breathing and stepped inside, not sure in what state to expect Stiles in.

It definitely wasn’t this.

Derek knew tactile comfort was not just a thing for werewolves, although granted the need for it was probably stronger and more urgent. But he knew how much humans also needed the closeness and warmth of a comforting and loving touch. That was part of how he and Stiles had grown closer together, the way they understood the need to move closer, eliminate the space between bodies where bad and painful memories tend to fester and replace it with the thought of not being alone. So for all Derek’s surprise at the sight, he understood.

Stiles’ back was mostly turned to him and Derek could see the vee between the open and not zippered back of the dress, framing Stiles’ smooth pale skin and the moles of constellations on his back while the dress billowed around him like a comforting blanket of lace and beauty. Stiles was reading, gloved hands looking delicate and small as he turned the pages and Derek shuddered at the thought of them sliding across his bare skin.

If this was a dream, well, Derek wouldn’t mind staying in it for a while.

Stiles finally noticed his presence, looking over his shoulder, his gaze swirling and glassy with emotions. He didn’t look surprised, didn’t even hasten to cover himself up, because Derek knew that of all the people in the world, Derek would never judge him. And especially not for this.

“Hey, baby,” Derek said softly, smiling.

“Hi,” Stiles said, face flushing a soft red, fingers tangling on his lap over the book, and biting his lip with unease.

Derek could see the tendrils of embarrassment making their way into his face and had to stop them. Stiles should never feel that way around Derek. Never.

“You look beautiful,” he said, keeping his voice low and soft, all the easier for his lover to keep himself in this moment, surreal and dreamlike.

Stiles smiled sweetly, his unease fading. “Thank you.”

And Stiles was. He was beautiful. He was a vision. Not really because of the dress, but because in that moment he was completely Stiles, no masks, no pretenses, just a boy who loved and missed his mother so much. And for Stiles to let Derek see him like this, Derek would forever honor this privilege.

Stiles reached up a gloved hand, head tilting to the side, innocent and young and beautiful.

Derek nodded and slid off his leather jacket and then his boots and socks, leaving him in a grey shirt and jeans. He checked himself down, relieved that there was no dirt or dust or anything that could ruin the dress. Stiles looked pleased, obviously knowing what Derek was thinking.

Derek crouched down, ready to pick up his love, when Stiles reached up with gloved hands, cupping his face. Derek looked down, green eyes meeting amber. It was as easy as breathing to lean down, kissing Stiles softly on the mouth, their lips pressing together like it was the first time and not the hundredth or the thousandth. Kissing Stiles was always like the first time.

Stiles smiled, leaning back. He placed the book - his mother’s diary now that Derek could see - on his lap and wound his arms around Derek’s shoulders. Derek carefully, so very carefully, reached below the dress, making sure there were no tangles or things to get caught on, before he lifted Stiles in his arms and carried him over to the bed.

It took a bit of gentle maneuvering until Derek was seated up against the headboard with Stiles and the dress spread sideways across his lap with Stiles’ head against his shoulder and the open diary in his hands.

Derek brushed his lips against Stiles’ cheek and closed his eyes as Stiles’ soft voice drifted in the air, bringing them both into the land of stories and dreams long gone.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Need to Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8431810) by [OverMyFreckledBody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody)




End file.
